


Return to Godo's

by waterbears



Category: Berserk
Genre: Dreams, Gen, Inner Dialogue, One Shot, sunrise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 06:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13541646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbears/pseuds/waterbears
Summary: when a broken man has nothing left, how do you go on?one shot in between fighting apostles; post-eclipse, pre-conviction





	Return to Godo's

**Author's Note:**

> read while listening to this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1o4O2SfQ5g&t=516s

Guts woke up, as he often did, with phantom throbbing in his right eye.

He startled awake and sat up from the tree stump he'd passed out on, clutching a warm palm over the socket. Sunlight was breaking over the horizon, which meant that the lessor spirits come to feed off his brand were already fading. The lack of sleep and retinal pulse shot through his body, and he closed the other eye, gathering himself into a tight ball.

_Why did it have to be this way?_

When his eye opened he was hugging his knees, head bowed forward. The hilt of the dragon slayer squealed against his metal fist. He stared at his body, this foreign object from him: clothes dirtied from months of traveling, scratched armor, the occasional blood splatter, some from apostles, some of his. And behind that: enough scar tissue to form an ocean, waves of his wounds revealed in craggy skin. He could still feel the fingers in his left hand.

This body, this machine for war, it had never been his. Even when he chose to walk on his own before joining the Hawks, it was circumstantial force. Being a mercenary was all he knew. There was no choice when the rest of the world was one he had never known. And then he had given himself up for his brothers in arms, suffered hard blows to protect the people he cared about. Now the mechanics of his body weren't even flesh and blood.

The breeze drifted south, carrying the scent of grass and mud; it was spring now, and tufts of new green dotted all over the land. He sat up and leaned back against the stump as his beating headache began to fade. 

_How long has it been since..._

Since he couldn't even think about it. Didn't want to think about it. He would keep moving through the motions of doing, rather than feeling. He could not bring himself to fully feel, still. It was too much. He allowed himself to only feel hatred, as it strengthened each blow of his sword.

One last demon tried to tug on his foot. He kicked it away as it turned into dust.

The sunlight had fully appeared now, creating a medley of pink and purple in the sky. Orange clouds wandered across his vision, and he stood up, leaning on the dragon slayer as if it were a staff. Guts gazed out to the east and took a deep breath.

After winter's patient death, his first spring sunrise in a year felt hopeful. Almost.

_She would have loved to see this._

He remembered now, why he had woken up.

_Casca..._

While his eye had always throbbed in the morning, this is not what woke him. For years he had not been able to dream; each day he passed out into blackness, and woke up remembering nothing. This was no longer the case.

At first he was fortunate, grateful that this habit of no dreaming had continued after the eclipse, that somehow every image otherwise seared into his brain did not stick subconsciously. But for some reason one or two started to seep their way into his waking memory, and he became ill even dwelling on it, ignoring them completely.

But now they came in full force every night, vivid as the sunrise he was staring at.

Naturally, most involved her. Some involved him; never in demon form, always preserved in the glory of knighthood. It made seeing him kill their comrades feel more evil and at home. There was texture: fur, teeth, skin, blood. Then events would spin out of control. Limbs tossed aside, the feeling of creatures lurking behind him, it all came back. Many ended at Guts staring into a pair of blue, avian eyes before coming to. A raven swallowing him in black. And that's when he'd feel the violent throb in his head.

_But in this one she was different... somehow. What happened?_

This dream had not woken him up because it reminded him of terror and betrayal. It had woken him up because of how safe and warm it was, a jarring mistake from reality.

_The bonfire._

He remembered it. There were bonfires sparkling all around him and Casca, on the hill after he'd become a hundred man slayer. She was preserved exactly as she had been back then: beautiful, sharp-tongued, and wary of him. He had felt her hands rubbing the fairy salve into his wounds.

In this dream, he was fully aware of all his feelings towards her. He wanted to embrace her, to talk of their future, to speak his love out loud, but found a heavy tongue instead. She was on the verge of something to say, and he could sense it.

Finally, she walked in front of him and said, "What about your dream?"

He sputtered. "What?"

"Your dream of bonfires. Your hopes for the future. Will you burn too? Are you burning, Guts?" She paused and looked away. 

Guts wanted to scream, but could not open his mouth. Fire danced around his peripherials.

The world shifted; they were by the waterfall, naked. He glanced down at the woman tucked underneath his armpit and squeezed her.

 _She had felt so real._  

When she looked up it was same as the vacant Casca he knew now, and for a moment, he thought he saw her stare that said nothing about him. But then she said, in that pained voice, "Don't look at me. Please, don't look."

It had been the last thing she'd said to him. To anybody.

He gritted his teeth, remembering the sensation of her body touching his. Velveteen skin underneath all that armor. And it was not only that he missed, but her presence: how she could command a room of men, the softness behind her actions, how regardless of her strength she relied on him. It was that part, that being needed by someone for once, that ached deep in his chest.

At this spring sunrise, for the first time since the birth of the demon baby, he allowed himself to cry.

The horrors that he suffered, they were one thing to deal with. The demons, the blood, the killing. That was a world he was accustomed to. Built for, even. But this missing someone else who was here and yet not, it was a whole other beast, one that finally cracked him open. It was in realizing the loss of Casca's warmth that he allowed himself to grieve.

As he cried, he thought about every other trauma life had handed to him, how none had prepared him for this. This aching, dull thump in his ribcage. How he would rather get wounded a million times over than lose her again. How he had kept fighting for her sake, sadistically seeking out the weaker apostles just to get a chance at Griffith, and had never once returned home. Had never made his dues with her. Had never even attempted to reconcile. Swinging his blade was easier. 

He realized loving, caring, vulnerability with Casca had meant none of this was ever going to be easy. That to deny his heart's desires also meant casting her aside. 

_I cannot live for my own sake anymore._

He swung the dragon slayer across his back, and continued to glare into the sun before walking onward.

_I should start heading the way back to Godo's house. Pay Rickert and Erika a visit too._

All this time it had been fear driving him at night, chasing him with terror, and that had been enough to ignore. 

_"Are you burning, Guts?"_

He couldn't wait to arrive home.


End file.
